


Special Delivery

by Anonymous



Series: Google: Become Gay [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crack, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Hatred of Technology, Humor, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-14 00:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20591627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: You got an Android in the mail.You never ordered an Android.





	Special Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to my shitty writing.

Androids weren't exactly rare, but they weren't cheap by any means either. Suffice to say, not everybody had them.  
  
You sure as shit couldn't afford one. So, it's really anyone's guess as to why a Google Android arrived at your door.

You were sure it was a mistake. You checked, double checked - for fucks sake - triple checked the address just to make sure it's supposed to be here, and it is. Unless you don't know your own address. But then again, what dumbass doesn't know their own address?

'_Ok, so, maybe there's a phone number?_'

There has to be a number so you can call and be like, "Hey, one of your robots is at my house and I definitely didn't steal it, so come get it".  
  
Does that sound harsh? It sounds harsh. Maybe you should say please when you call.  
  
"Come get it, **please**."  
  
_Hmmmmm..._  
  
Yeah, that's better. Or bitchier. I don't know, who cares. Who's gonna get mad at someone for saying please? Not the fuckhead who lost a fucking robot! They better be glad you even have the decency to try to return it. Most people would keep it or try to sell it.  
  
But not you. You're a "good" person, so you return shit, and don't whine about it.  
  
Well, good for you. Not everyone can be a fucking saint, bitch.  
  
And by the way, it's not just any robot either. It's a _**Google**_ fucking Android - the cream of the crop when it comes to Androids or robots or whatever you want to call them. Aside from how buggy and murder-y the first few prototypes were, the Google Android bot things had an exceptional reputation. They were efficient, didn't lag, and they were first. Being the first to do something always helps.  
  
_Anywho_, speaking of calling (which we were), where's the damn number? It's not on the box. Is it in the instructions? Shouldn't it be in the first few pages? Reread it. Maybe you mis-  
  
"Do you require assistance?"  
  
"Motherfucker!" Surprised, you shouted like a fox during mating season.  
  
You didn't appreciate your box-rummaging being interrupted. Especially as you sat on the floor, with all the box's contents surrounding you. Another human might've been concerned about the mildly deranged position you happened to find yourself in. Luckily, it wasn't a human that interrupted you.  
  
Just the thing that you were trying to return.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't understand that command."  
  
When you turned to look behind you, you finally saw the Android. It wasn't one of the models you'd seen on ads. If it wasn't for the Google Logo glowing through its shirt, you might have actually thought the fucker was human.  
  
Regardless, it definitely looked... familiar. You couldn't quite place it, but that was a face you'd seen many times before. Too many times.  
  
Or maybe not enough, given you can't remember whose likeness the Android held.  
  
While you stare at it absentmindedly, it simply crouched down to floor, then repeated it's original question: "Do you require assistance?"  
  
To which you wittily respond with, "uh, nah man. I'm good."  
  
And then (to your surprise) it didn't talk back or sass you. Which was a lovely change of pace. Your friends would absolutely give you sass right now, even though they probably wouldn't have any helpful ideas.  
  
Probably.  
  
Maybe.

* * *

"Mark, I got an Android!"

_"I thought you said they were glorified toasters."_  
  
"They are, but-"  
  
_"Then why'd you get one?"_  
  
"I didn't mean to, but-"  
  
_"How the hell do you accidentally-?"_ This bitch.  
  
"If you'd shut your dumb mouth and let me speak, maybe I'd explain some shit! Fucking goddamn it, man!"  
  
Maybe you were being a bit of a dick, but you had pressing matters to talk about. Namely, what to do with the Android in your living room.

And even if you were a dick, he didn't complain (he usually does) and listened. You explained how it just showed up, there wasn't any information on were it came from, and you promised, like, 7 times that you didn't steal it. Not that he asked or even considered that you would, but you felt it was important to say.

Although your persistent insistence that you didn't steal it was suspicious given you were never accused. At least it would've been suspicious if you were talking to Amy or Tyler. But you weren't talking to them, you were talking to Mark.

_"Maybe it's a gift?"_

"From who? And why? Anyone who knows me knows I hate the damn things."

_"I don't know. Maybe whoever sent it hates you."_

"I'm absolutely willing to believe that. It's so creepy, a perfect gift for someone you hate." Aside from your strong bias against Androids, it was genuinely creepy. And not the 'dim lighted and excessive gore' type of creepy, either. No, this was a much more subtle type of creepy.

You looked over to where it sat on the couch. After you couldn't find a number (and right before you decided to call Mark instead), you told it to sit there and not move. And it listened.

I mean, of course it did. Its programmed to. But, you didn't expect it to sit _perfectly_ still. Not like that. Not blinking, not twitching, not fiddling, not breathing. You hadn't noticed it imitating subtle things humans do subconsciously, until it stopped doing then completely. It was too human and too machine all at once.

You especially hated it's eyes though. They were just blankly staring ahead. Like an old doll. You had half a mind to push it's eyelids shut, like you used to do to actual dolls. The only thing stopping you was alive, how almost human, how familiar it was. It was like you knew this person. This was a person you could've talked to...

Oh...

_Oh!_

"Holy shit!" You suddenly gasped out, trying to tell him, "It... looks..."

You really did try. But you couldn't help but split your sides. The fucking thing looked like Mark.

Through your obnoxious laughter and labored breathes, you heard a string of '_what_'s and '_are you ok_'s come from the other side of the line. You could only imagine how all of this sounded to your dear friend.

When you finally started to calm down, you practically shouted, "it looks like you!"

_"That is so mean! I'm not creepy!"_

"Eh..."

_"Fuck you."_

"No thanks. But, like seriously, though. What am I supposed to do with it?"

_"Umm, keep it! Because it's the best gift ever."_

"Ok, that's a possibility. Can I hear a **good** idea, now?"

_"Dick."_

"So, no good ideas, then?"

_"Uh, well,"_ Mark stumbled over words, desperately trying to think something. _"Is it anatomically correct?"_

You didn't like where this was going.

"I don't know. Why?"

You really didn't like where this was going.

_"You could always fuck-"_

"No."

_"What? You don't wanna fuck some robo-booty?"_ You weren't really surprised, just disappointed. In all fairness, it was only a matter of time before fucking the thing was brought up. Although, this was definitely earlier than you had expected. You figured it'd be long gone, back to who fucking cares where, and maybe someone would joke about how you should've porked it.

You definitely didn't expect anyone to suggest you actually do it.

"No! I really don't. I don't wanna stick my dick a glorified toaster that looks like you."

_"You wouldn't want to fuck my ass?"_ You honestly don't deserve this shit from your friends. Oh well, c'est la vie.

"You're in a relationship."

_"This isn't about that. This about you fucking an ass that resembles mine."_ If it wasn't for the sake of this dumb fanfic, you wouldn't be friends with this weird, absurd man.

"I don't even know if the ass looks like yours!"

_"Then check."_

"Absolutely not."

_"What kind of friend are you if you won't check out a robots ass for me?"_

"What kind of friend are you for asking?"

_"A curious one. Now check it's ass."_

"No, actually, you know what?" You picked one of the many useless papers from the Android's packaging and started crushing it next to the speaker, "I think I'm losing you, bad service and shit, oh no, bye."

You could hear him complaining as you hung up. He wasn't stupid enough to fall for your ruse. Then again, you weren't trying to trick him. You were aiming to piss him off, or at the very least annoy him.

So, you've annoyed your friend and accomplished diddly dick. Not all hope is lost, though. You've only been at this for an hour. You're smart(ish) and strong-willed, you can figure out where this bot should be.

* * *

You are not as strong-willed as you thought. You may have overestimated yourself.

You spent your entire afternoon and evening trying to find a number and you succeeded, but they had no fucking idea what you were talking. They didn't any records of an Android being sent to your house. Eventually they hung up on you after you yelled a few choice words, saying they "don't appreciate your language or the flippant nature of the call". Although, before they ended the call, you found out this particular model was **_discontinued_** for it's "murderous tendencies" and it's "constant allusions and disturbingly vivid descriptions of death".

To be safe, you duct-taped it to a chair. The Android was surprisingly compliant, reading out instructions on how to properly tape someone to a chair, moving limbs when and where you needed it, too. You knew it could also just look up how to get out of the tape, but it made you feel a little better. Not that any of this stopped you from locking and moving your nightstand in front of your door.

The next morning, or whenever you finally left your room again, you found that stupid fucking Android still in the chair, where you left it. It was sitting exactly as it was yesterday, the only difference being its eyes were closed. The fucker didn't even try to escape!

It was fucking with you or something. You know it had some ulterior (and probably murder related) motive.

You weren't un-taping it. It could rot in that chair for all you care. Not that it could, though it'd be nice if it were possible. It'd make disposing of it easier. You could just drop it off somewhere and let it die or find a new home.

Realistically, it'd just run out of battery - which, actually... That wouldn't be so bad! And probably a lot more ethical, too.

So, that’s what you did. You told it were to go, just a few blocks away, around the corner of a street you try to avoid anyway. You told it you wanted it to stand there and stay there for a week. It’s battery couldn’t possibly last that long without being charged, you thought. You phone barely survives a day, there’s no way it could last seven.

Then, after you cut it free from the tape, it left. It didn’t come back that night, or the night after that. That was about as long as your little vacation from it lasted however.

On the bright side, you were right. It couldn't last seven days. 

You found that out when it came home a few days later. The Android was just standing in front of your door, waiting for you to arrive. It needed charged.

You hadn't set up it’s charging port, you didn't think you'd need to. It was rather bulky for a changing port. It was about the size of a small side table.

Regardless, you had to do that now. You weren’t very happy about it, either. You hadn’t had made a plan of what to do in case it comes back. And you stupidly thought your plan was full proof. To be honest, it wasn’t a very good plan.

On another note, this was also the worst way to find out the android had a self-preservation protocol.

Apparently, that was the third law of robotics; robots have to protect themselves, as long as it doesn't mean people get hurt and orders are broken.

**You didn't know that.**

The basis of Google's programming just happened to be the Three Laws of Robotics.

**You didn't know that either.**

The programmers just let Google protect itself a little more. Specifically, when it needed to be charged. Fair enough. It'd be pretty annoying to have a unit "die" in the middle of a task.

However, in this case, that's exactly what you wanted.

And by the looks of him, you were close.

The Android was sat on the floor next to it's charging port, with it's arm slung over it. It's head was against it's arm and it was leaning forward on the charging port, so the cords protruding from his back wasn't pressed into the wall.

He looked _exhausted_.

Maybe you should of put it next to the couch. Then he wouldn't have to half lay on the floor and it's cord wouldn't get fucked up.

You'd try to move the charging port whenever Google woke up. Or stopped his unconscious, sleep-like, charging state. And after that, you'd figure out what to do with him. For now though, he'll just sleep.

Or whatever the hell he fucking does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> If you find a grammar or spelling issue, pls lemme know.


End file.
